Songs of Courage 

and Other Poems 

by 
Bertha F. Gordon 







Class 
Book 



Copyright ]^^. 



c^ I 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



SONGS OF COURAGE 



Songs of Courage 

and Other Poems 

by 
Bertha F. Gordon 



New York 

The Baker &. Taylor Co. 

MDCDXI 



1/ 









Copyright, 1911 
by 
The Baker & Taylor Co. 



ffi^ 09 

©Ci.A:^924?4 






i 



"Go, little book, and wish to all 

Flowers in the garden, meat in the 
hall, 

A bin of wine, a spice of wit, 
A house with lawns enclosing it, 

A living river by the door, 
A nightingale in the sycamore. " 

— Stevenson. 



Contents 



SONGS OF COURAGE 

PAGE 

Song at the Brink of Death 15 

The Draught of Life 16 

A Challenge 17 

The Greater Day 18 

A Song of Battle 19 

Sonnet to an Anaesthetic 20 

A Song of Loneliness 21 

Remembrance 23 



OVERTONES 

Sonnet to a Violin 27 

To G. E. C. 28 

A Cry from the Plains 29 

To the Sea 30 

Dawn 31 

Decemher 32 

After Hearing Tristan and Isolde .... 33 

Autumn 34 

Taking Wing .35 

A Legend of the Violet 36 

The Poet's Gift 37 

An Autumn Leaf 40 

An Appreciation 41 

A Forest Lullaby 42 

April 43 

Sunset . 44 



Contents 



LOVE SONGS 

PAGE 

A Song of the Summer Twilight 47 

The Purple Pansy 48 

Oh where are You? 49 

Nature Metaphors 50 

An April Song 51 

A Sonnet to Phyllis 52 

The Call 53 

In Port 54 

Without 55 

Since I have won your Love 56 

Your Voice 57 

Her Shawl 58 

Storm Bound 59 

Roselyn, My Rose 60 

At Parting 61 



A DRAMATIC INTERLUDE 

Reason and the Rose 65 



FOREWORD 



HP HE first collection of Miss Gordon's poems was 
published in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1909, under 
the happy title of ''Overtones," and met with a 
sympathetic appreciation by an ever extending cir- 
cle of readers — an appreciation which has grown to 
enthusiasm on the part of many. 

No less an authoritative critic than the literary 
reviewer of the conservative Boston Transcript, 
said of this collection, when it appeared: "Once 
or twice perhaps in every decade a little un- 
assuming pamphlet of verse issues from the press 
almost still-born, and its chance of lengthy life 
seems very slight. One recalls in the past such lit- 
tle books as 'Tares' and 'Diversi Coloren,' *Prim- 
avera,' and Miss Reese's 'A Branch of May.' We 
claim to have discovered a worthy addition to this 
select group in 'Overtones,' by Bertha F. Gordon. 
No woman save Miss Guiney has sounded the 
note of spirtual valor with such courageous beauty 
as Miss Gordon does in her 'Song at the Brink of 
Death' ; for its spirit is unconquerable, not till death, 
as many boast, but always, even beyond the portals 
of the grave." "The fact is," -concludes this review- 
er, "that the American poets of the younger genera- 
tion who show achievement may be counted on the 
dial of a timepiece. It is Miss Gordon's distinction 



Foreword 



that she is worthy of being ranked among the 
twelve." 

Other reviewers have spoken of her poems with 
enthusiasm equal to that of this eminent critic. 
They have been translated into the German by the 
Baroness Von Blomberg. 

A second collection of Miss Gordon's poems, 
under the title ''Songs of Courage," was privately 
printed in 1910 at the press of Hal W. Trovillion, 
and this bibelot also achieved unqualified recogni- 
tion from discerning readers. 

The present little volume is composed of the 
verses contained in both of the earlier collections, 
together with a number of new poems never before 
published. The title of the second collection is re- 
tained for this complete edition, as it suggests 
better than any other the note of "spiritual valor" 
which characterizes all of the poems. 

Mr. Trovillion, in an appreciative and dis- 
criminating foreword to the ''Songs of Courage," 
printed at his press, gives a very brief sketch of 
Miss Gordon's career. He points out that "She is 
not one who watches life through opera glasses 
from the library window ; but, on the contrary, 
knows the world from having mixed much in its af- 
fairs. Born and reared in Boston, she was surround- 
ed with all the intellectual advantages of that famous 
center of culture. The concerts of the Boston Sym- 
phony Orchestra made a profound impression upon 

10 



Foreword 

her, and it is probably because of that musical in- 
fluence that she is to-day a musician and composer. 
Indeed her chief claim to distinction lies in her 
music rather than in her poetry." Miss Gordon has 
composed music for some of her own lyrics ; and 
has made a number of exquisitely beautiful settings 
for the words of other poets, besides composing in 
all the other musical forms, including the symphonic. 

''It must have been something of a plunge," Mr. 
Trovillion continues, "for her to be taken out of 
this refined world and set down amid the mining 
camps and cattle ranches of the Rockies. Yet here 
she spent two of the happiest years of her life. 
The primeval immensity, the varied voices, but 
above all the silence of the wilds, made a potent 
appeal to her tensely strung nature. 

"After her sojourn in Colorado she came to live 
(and lives to-day) in Chicago. Here she earns her 
bread by the chisel and the hammer, being a teacher 
of Manual Training. For side by side with the 
artistic leanings, there dwells in her nature a strong 
mechanical bent — a turn for the pre-eminently prac- 
tical ; so that she is an example of the present idea 
of the balanced woman — one with athletic muscles, 
a trained, practical mind, and a soul keenly apprecia- 
tive of the artistic." 



II 



SONGS OF COURAGE 



Songs of Courage 



SONG AT THE BRINK OF DEATH 

Before I leap and lose myself below, 

Give me one moment's look beyond the brink. 

Volumes of fog, vast piles of rolling mists, 

Make war upon each other like the waves. 

I hear strong humming as of mighty winds, 

And shock and crash, as if a myriad 

Of toppling worlds were crushed and ground to 

dust. 
And from their dissolution, whirling, rise 
Sharp fumes and strange ; and all the tingling air 
Seems full of unseen thorns that prick and burn. 
My soul is in my hand — I shall not fear. 
Now shall I test the temper of that sword 
That I have spent my life to weld and whet. 
Through ills I dream not of, through agony 
And ruin, I shall cleave my fiery way. 
The heart within me burns like glowing wine, 
And as the husk of earth slips from my soul. 
The thrill of dawning godhood stirs within. 
I swing my sword, and with a cry I leap. 



15 



Songs of Courage 



THE DRAUGHT OF LIFE 

The draught of Life — ah God — how sharp it is ! 

How deadly bitter — and how madd'ning sweet ! 

Oh pang of ice and fire, how you thrill 

Through all my veins, and shake my very soul ! 

Divine intoxication glowing red 

Within your jewelled chalice, lo I set 

My thirsty lips hard to your cruel brim 

And drink, and drink, and wring the dregs thereof. 

I am of God, and shall I fear to quaff 

To the last drop, the cup here set for me? 



i6 



Songs of Courage 



A CHALLENGE 

Unkindly Fate, and cruel Circumstance, 

Why do you rage at me ? For having stormed 

In vain against the fortress of my soul, 

Since the beginning, have you still not learned 

That I am wrought of stuff unconquerable? 

Though you may wound me, bruise me, and exhaust. 

And though my tears and blood may freely flow. 

Your savage blows shall never bow my head; 

But with a steady and a level gaze 

I look you in the face, and scorn your wrath. 

But if perchance you stab me deep enough 

It shall not be despite, but gentle grace, 

That you have done me. For my spirit, freed, 

Will turn home gladly, singing a blithe song. 



>7 



Songs of Courage 



THE GREATER DAY 

Oh dear America, how bleeds my heart 
When I behold the wrongs that bow thy head, 
And all the shames, and hates, and plunderings, 
And bitter rivalries that make thee less. 
But I have seen that golden heart of thine 
And know that sometime thou shalt rise in strength 
And glory, and shalt clothe thyself with light, 
And scatter with a sweep of thy strong arm 
The things unworthy of thy name, and set 
Thy house in order, and thy children call 
About thy knees to help, and bless, and save. 
When shall it be, dear Mother of us all? 
To-day ? To-morrow ? Rise ! and strike from off 
Thy feet, those old and worn-out lav/s, which, like 
A galling shackle, now forbid thy steps; 
And be to us, and to the whole wide world, 
The grateful shadow of a rock within 
The desert, and a light at eventide. 



i8 



Songs of Courage 



A SONG OF BATTLE 

Ah, Dearest One, I long to plead this prayer : — 
That God will shield and cover thy dear head, 

And ward thy heart from wounds of Chance and 
Fate; 
That thou beside still waters may be led. 

(How gladly would I grasp Fate's cruel spears 
Aimed at thy breast, and draw them into mine 

With eager hands, and heart athrill with joy 
To feel each pang thus turned away from thine.) 

But though my lips are burning with these words 
I still deny my passionate heart such speech, 

Because I would not keep from thee that strength 
Denied to those whom conflict does not reach. 

Rather I pray that God will lead thee forth 
And arm thy soul to meet the battle's strife, 

And give thee a sure blade with which to strive — 
To strive and conquer, though it cost thy life. 



19 



Songs of Courage 



SONNET TO AN ANAESTHETIC 

Forbidding Spirit, art thou foe or friend, 
That drawest near my couch with presence chill? 
Thou, Conqueror, dost subdue my sovereign will- 
Forth from its house, my spirit dost thou send, 
Rebelling, yet before thee it must bend. 
Along the stifling tracks of sense, a thrill 
Of terror creeps. Oh Spirit, cold and still, 
How shall I know thee — as a foe or friend? 
As friend ! As friend ! For lo, my tortured brain. 
Beating its walls in fevered throbs of pain, 
Feels blissful respite; yea, as friend, for lo, 
In mercy, lest my flickering spark of life 
Be quenched, thou sparest me that deadliest throe^ 
The savage torture of the keen-edged knife. 



20 



Songs of Courage 



A SONG OF LONELINESS 

He in whose soul burns the divine flame shall 

know not the face of peace. 
He shall be restless — restless — and his heart shall 

wander as the wind wanders, knowing not 

whither nor why. 
He shall cry aloud with a great voice in his pain. 
A force shall work upon him mightily, and shall 

drive him into the high places ; 
And though he shall labor and pant, yet shall he 

find light upon the mountain top, and a great 

silence. 
His head shall move among the stars, but he shall 

walk in loneliness, and days shall come upon 

him when he hungereth for mankind. 
Joy and grief shall be to him without measure ; 
For his heart-strings are well tuned, and tightly 

are they drawn. 
He shall not say in his heart, "Here endeth sorrow, 

and here joy beginneth" ; 
For that boundary shall be dim and faint and hardly 

to be found. 
His spirit and flesh shall quiver with an agony of 

delight. 
Yea, upon the rack of joy shall he turn with torture 

unspeakable. 
But his spirit shall lift him up, and bear him aloft. 

31 



Songs of Courage 



The planets shall be to him as a stair, and upon 

the stars shall he mount upward. 
He shall sing as he goeth and the world shall weep, 

listening. 
The heart of the deep sky shall open and receive 

him. 
And the doors thereof shall close behind him with 

the sound of music. 



22 



Songs of Courage 



REMEMBRANCE 

When all the land is white with swirling snow, 
And bitter winds make moan thro' naked trees, 
I bend above my rose- jar to inhale 
The spicy fragrance of the summer breeze. 
Again the cricket chirps, and through the corn, 
The bee blows music on his hunting horn. 

The roses of my joys fall one by one ; 
But when they fall, I gather up the sweet 
And tarnished petals, storing them away 
Within my memory's urn. So shall there greet 
My yearning senses, in the time of stress. 
The grateful fragrance of past happiness. 



23 



OVERTONES 



Overtones 



SONNET TO A VIOLIN 

Strange shape, who moulded first thy fragile shell? 
Who carved these melting curves? Who first did 

bring 
Across thy latticed bridge the slender string? 
Who formed this magic wand to weave the spell, 
And lending thee his spirit, bade thee tell, 
When o'er the quivering strings he drew the bow, 
Life's history of happiness and woe — 
A ringing paean, or a funeral knell ! 
Come, oh belov'd responsive instrument! 
Across thy slender throat, with gentle care 
I'll stretch my heart-strings, and be quite content 
To lose them, if with man I may but share 
The springs of song, that in my soul are pent, 
To ease his toil, and help his load to bear. 



27 



Overtones 



TO G. E. C. 

(When I gave her my copy of Gray's Elegy.) 

Go dwell among her books, my little book, 

Proud to be counted one among that band 

She holds most choice, and proud to touch her 
hand. 

Your opened leaves will see her lean and look. 
The while her eyes will slip from line to line 
(Dark-fringed, dear eyes, — would I those pages 

were). 
Then, little book, pray soothe and quiet her, 
And rest her heart as you have rested mine. 
Sing her a song, ye sweet and flowing words, 
Carol to her like flights of passing birds, 
And through the din of daily strife, and jeer 
Of circumstance, oh let your chords sound clear, 
And bid the wheels of thought their grinding cease 
Just for a little, while you sing of peace. 



28 



Overtones 



A CRY FROM THE PLAINS 

In that far country — that bright sunset land — 
Where heaves the earth in many a wrinkled fold, 
Where rushing stream, and peak, and headland 

bold, 
Make a wild world of beauty ; where the sand 
Runs golden, and the banks of pallid snow 
Hide in the gorges from the sun's hot glow. 
There does my spirit long to ride at ease 
Upon the flowing tides of mountain breeze. 
There would I be again, to watch and cheer 
The valiant army of the spruces. Sheer 
And riven and rock-strewn are the heights they 

scale, 
Flaunting their brave green banners in the gale. 
The pine tree's fragrance, like an ardent song 
Breathes full of passion when the sun is strong. 
The wind, down-sweeping from eternal snows. 
Or from some icy emerald mountain pool. 
Caresses like a loving hand my brows — 
Electric, magic, tender, soft and cool. 
I see again the eagle wheel on high. 
And downward to my ear, his lonely cry 
Drops like the answer to my heart's wild call ; 
And I am bathed in loneliness, and all 
My being drinks a draught of peace. This free 
High world is mine, and it is well with me. 



29 



Overtones 



TO THE SEA 

Oh widely-spreading, many-colored sea, 

Oh tender lover of the arching sky. 

How manifold thy moods and passions -be. 

Thou sleepest now ; but when the winds rise high, 

Roaring and thundering thou dost defy 

The stark deep-rooted rocks. In fear of thee 

The battered, tossing, laboring vessels flee. 

Of storm and dark thou art the fierce ally. 

How different now thou art, oh Ocean wide ! 

The sunset dyes thy swiftly ebbing tide 

And like a throbbing opal thou dost gleam 

With emerald tint, and flash of fire, and sheen 

Of milky pearl. Now dost thou drowse and dream 

And murmur to the rocks a sp^ng serene. 



30 



Overtones 



DAWN 

The star of morning, vanishing from view 
Dissolves in yon far-reaching depths of blue. 
Look ! look ! It hangs, one trembling drop of light, 
Upon the fringes of the dress of night. 
Nature awakes, and thrills of ecstasy 
Quiver from sky to earth, from hill to sea. 



31 



Overtones 



DECEMBER 

Where are the HHes of April 

And where are the snowballs of May? 
They died long ago in the early year 

And their white souls drifted away — 

Drifted away into cloudland 
To wait till the year should die ; 

And now to make him a winding sheet, 
They fall from the dull gray sky. 



32 



Overtones 



AFTER HEARING TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 

The naked branches, feathering into Spring, 
Are lace-wise spread athwart the sunset sky, 
While underneath, the city, vast and dim. 
Spreads out for miles. I hear its muffled roar, 
The while my heart throbs swift and painfully, 
Remembering that wild music fraught with woe. 
I wait for the dear dark like him who watched 
To see the quenched torch, the waving scarf — 
Impatient Tristan in Isolde's garden — 
The dimming sunset is my dying torch, 
The crescent moon shall be my signal scarf, 
And oh Isolde-Night, I wait for thee. 



33 



Overtones 



AUTUMN 

Oh best of years — oh year of peace and joy, 
SHp not so swiftly by, turn not so fast ! 
"Another year will come again," you say — 
But this — ah never, once 'tis dead and past. 

Look where the spreading scarlet tells the tale 
Of stricken Summer, wounded unto death. 
The Southwest Wind is wandering, restless, sad. 
"Our golden year is breathing hard," he saith. 

He chants a litany full sorrowful — 
The mourning trees respond, uncomforted. 
A thin blue veil of smoke obscures the land 
Like incense falling, stale, when mass is said. 

Far in the depths of heaven's boundless gray 
Two faint black lines, converging, southward move ; 
The somber music of the wild duck's cry 
Descends in mournful cadence from above. 

Oh best of years, oh year of peace and joy, 
Turn not so fast ! Slip not so swiftly by ! 
My stricken heart calls after you with all 
The yearning potence of the wild duck's cry! 



34 



Overtones 



TAKING WING 

My heart sits crouching like a wounded bird 
Who sees his singing comrades southward fly, 

And flutters after them a yard or so, 
And calls to them a little pleading cry. 

My joys rise up and gather and take flight. 
And homeward faring, leave my heavy heart 

Behind — alone, defenceless, in a land 

Of coming storm — with its wild bitter smart. 



35 



Overtones 



A LEGEND OF THE VIOLET 

God wrought one day, and thought of making you. 
He took two mountain pools to make your eyes, 
And fringed them with the shadow-light of stars. 
He took the gloss from out the chestnut burr. 
Blent it with evening mist and made your hair. 
Your lips He formed to match the wistful curl 
Of red rose-petals, late in summer time. 
He mingled fragrances and silver sounds 
And many other rare and delicate 
And precious things, and sent you down to earth 
Made perfect with the soul's immortal fire. 
And then He gathered up the fragments left 
From all that made you, held them in His hand. 
Pausing awhile, and said, "This is too fine 
A substance to be lost or thrown away. 
I will make violets from it." And He did. 



36 



Overtones 



THE POETS GIFT 

It fell that in that land beyond the lands, 
A certain monarch sent his criers forth 
To let proclaim that whosoe'er should bring 
Gifts the most pleasing to his only child, 
His one fair daughter, fairer than the day, 
Should have her for his wife, and wed her straight. 
And so from far and near the suitors came 
Till all the city where the Princess dwelt 
Hummed like a bee hive. On the appointed day, 
With blare of trumpet, and with flash of gold. 
The princes gathered to bestow their gifts, 
Plighting their honors to submit forthwith 
Unto the judgment. On the throne she sat. 
White were her garments — ^beautiful she was — 
Beautiful as the morning star. All hearts 
Leaped and beat faster for her beauty's sake. 
And one by one the princes brought their gifts — 
Gold of the hills, and perfume of the vales — 
Pearls of the sea, and rubies of the rock. 
And dewdrop-diamonds, and amethysts, 
And opals, passionate with latent fire. 
And costly stuffs they gave, both furs and silks, 

And velvets where the sun's rays glanced and 

played. 
Making a frost, like moonlight on the sea. 
And some gave precious books, wrought curiously. 
Filled with the ancient wisdom, sighs and tears 

37 



Overtones 



And loves and hates of all the bygone days. 
And one brought instruments for music — harp, 
And flute, and violin. All which with grace 
The Princess took and courteously gave thanks. 
At last, when every one his gift had brought, 
The lords drew back, waiting to hear the choice. 
But one there stood among the throng — a Poet, 
Who came not as a suitor, but to grace 
The presence of that master whom he served; 
And on his ravished sight, the Princess' beauty 
Smote like a fiery sun, till all his heart 
Kneeled down and worshipped her. He, standing 

there, 
Poured forth his soul in gazing on her face. 
Nor marked how that the lords drew back a space 
And left him standing, gazing, rapt and lost. 
Then spoke the Princess, smiling in his eyes, 
''And you, sir, — do you bring a gift for me?" 
One step he took, and stood before her throne, 
His flushed cheeks paling, as the rose of dawn 
Fades and grows pallid when the sun draws near. 
*T bring a gift, O Princess — a rare gift, 
More precious than the sum of all these gifts — 
Gold of the hills, or perfume of the vales, 
Gems, or fine raiment, or the lore of books. 
Or the sweet silver sound of music's tongue — 
Something as holy as the wings of prayer. 
Old as the world, and young as new-born day, 

38 



Overtones 



Pure as white lily-buds, baptized with dew. 
I pray you now, hold forth your hand, O Princess, 
And take from me the precious gift I bring." 
The wondering Princess then held forth her hand. 
He, bending, the sweet hollow of her palm 
Touched with his lips, and placed a kiss therein. 
Silence a moment hovered o'er their heads. 
And then the Princess rose and stood before him, 
Royal and tall, and laid her hands in his. 



39 



Overtones 



AN AUTUMN LEAF 

I met a maid beside the summer sea, 

And when I first heheld her gentle grace, 

And caught the Hght that played about her face, 

I murmured, "She is fair as fair can be." 

And so in sport beneath the greenwood tree. 

We spent the time till summer fled apace, 

And rising winds led falling leaves a race, 

And autumn's steps showed ruddy on the lea. 

Then she departed. Not till then I knew 

That round her image, close, my heart-strings grew, 

And only once I pressed her finger tips — 

Once stole the scarlet treasure of her lips. 

I'll trust my passion to the Autumn winds — 

She'll know I love her, if this leaf she finds. 



40 



Overtones 



AN APPRECIATION 

Not an angel, not a fairy, not an elf 
(Though with an elfin's fleetness) 

But just a woman, sweet with all 
A woman's sweetness — 

Hair of red gold, worn crown-like; eyes 
Of the sea's changeful blue — 

And mother-hands, full of kind helpfulness- 
Dear, that is you. 



41 



Overtones 



A FOREST LULLABY 

Pools of sunlight, flooding, ebbing, cross the forest 

shade. 
Branches bending, swaying, sighing, sing to you my 
maid. 
Sleep dear, sleep dear — hear the forest croon; 
Sleep dear, sleep dear — waking comes full soon. 

Where the velvet mosses gather, rest your head and 

sleep. 
Only gentle winds shall touch you, while my watch 
I keep 
Sleep dear, sleep dear — hear the forest croon; 
Sleep dear, sleep dear — waking comes full soon. 

Let my love like floating perfume steal across your 

dream ; 
Let the forest's drowsy murmur drift you on its 
stream. 
Sleep dear, sleep dear — hear the forest croon; 
Sleep dear, sleep dear — waking comes full soon. 



42 



Overtones 



APRIL 

Dear April's days are rich with sounds of song — 
For all the streams are freed from icy bonds 
And hurry, singing, on their way along. 
When dusk is falling, by the swollen ponds, 
The frogs make music in their comic way, 
The Southwest wind is carolling of Spring — 
The bluebird pipes his liquid roundelay 
To wake the arbutus, still slumbering. 
The quick staccato notes of sudden rain 
Clink like a "chime-of-bells," and clink again. 

And April's days are rich with sweet perfume — 

The air, distilled by sun and rain, smells clean. 

The scented breath of pink and snowy bloom 

Drifts down the wind. The budding branches lean 

Toward earth, as if they longed to catch a whiff 

Of that wild, subtle odor of the ground — 

The smell of sod and loam no longer stiff 

With frost, but pierced by sproutlings heaven- 
bound. 

Oh how I love you — love you, mad Spring days. 

When melody and fragrance strew your ways. 



43 



Overtones 



SUNSET 

When the bright day is drawing to its close, 
How grandly does the sun descend the West ! 
He gathers 'round about him rose, and gold, 
And purple, as a king his royal robes. 
The roaring waves cry out sonorously, 
"Hail ! and farewell !" and our exalted hearts. 
What time we stand with arms upreaching, cry, 
"Bright Lord of Life and Light, all hail ! all hail !' 



44 



LOVE SONGS 



Love Songs 



A SONG OF THE SUMMER TWILIGHT 

Dear heart, you smiled, and through the summer 
twiHght 

A breath of fragrance drifted on the breeze. 
Dear heart, you spoke, and through the summer 
twiHght 

A flight of song-birds carolled in the trees. 

Dear heart, you touched me, and the summer 
twilight 

With rosy radiance like the San-greal gleamed. 

Dear heart, you sang to me, and all the twilight 

Quivered with chords of harmony undreamed. 

You kissed me, dearest, in the summer twilight — 
The soft wind held its breath, and from its sphere, 
The evening star bent down to hear you murmur, 
"With all my heart and soul, I love you, dear." 



47 



Love Songs 



THE PURPLE PANSY 

My dear, your heart is like this pansy bloom, 
Royal, and large, and golden at the core, 
And though I love the blossom's sweet perfume 
And petals dyed and veined with matchless art. 
Yet since it is the image of your heart 
I love it more. 



48 



Love Songs 



OH WHERE ARE YOU ? 

Oh where are you this golden day, 

My beautiful, my dear? 
This wind was born to cool your brow, 
This sky, so blue and clear, 

Was 'born to bend above you — 
As I was born to love you — 
My beautiful, my dear. 

I would I were the sod, dear heart. 

My precious one, my sweet — 
The happy sod that thrills to feel 
The pressure of your feet. 

But somehow I have missed you, 
Who should have held and kissed you. 
My precious one, my sweet. 



49 



Love Songs 



NATURE METAPHORS 

I 

Sometimes, my dear, this little ship of mine 

Drifts, aimless, when th' inspiring breeze is 
gone; 
But then thy love sits in the shoulder of my sail — 
So am I wafted on. 

II 

Sometimes, my dear, this little flower droops 

In thirsting after some deep-hidden spring; 
But then the cooling showers thy love sends 
swiftly down, 

A sweet refreshment bring. 

Ill 
Once on a time, dear heart, the bird you love, 
Flew all alone, and sang a sad, sad song; 
But then a vibrant answer came, and now the 
two 

Their blending notes prolong. 



50 



Lx)ve Songs 



AN APRIL SONG 



It was a rainy April day 

When my true love went far away. 
The eddying wind's low mournful wail 

Seemed the sorrowful roundelay 
To a sad and sorrowful tale. 

It was a rainy April day 

The flow'rs, storm-beaten, crumpled lay- 
The wooing bird-songs silent were 

That thrilled the tree-tops yesterday 

And the world was one gray blur. 
But through the heart of that April day 

There came a swift wild stir ; 
The bird-songs rose with joyous sound 
The flowers lifted from the ground, 

And see — ah see! 
My love is coming back to me ! 



51 



Lx)ve Songs 



A SONNET TO PHYLLIS 

I kissed you once, dear Phyllis, though you knew 

It not. And thus it chanced : — the falling year 

Had stripped the fields of flowers, and left them 
sear, 

But in my garden, late, some pansies grew, 

And these I gathered for a gift to you. 

I kissed each one and said, "Oh, pansies dear, 

How bless'd are you to be my Phyllis near. 

To gaze on her, and all her charms to view." 

So saying, to you I took them. Pleased you 
seemed 

At flowers so late. How white your fingers gleamed 

Amid the dark green leaves. You bent your head 

To breathe the fragrance that the flowers shed. 

Ah — then I saw one pansy's petal-tips. 

Just touch you ; but 'twas I that kissed your lips. 



52 



Love Songs 



THE CALL 



Dear, when the twilight shadows fall, 
Then do you hear me call, and call ? 
My tired heart would lie at rest 
Safe in the shelter of your breast. 
Hear, oh my loyal love, and true. 
The cry of my heart to you. 

All through the day I'll bravely bear 
Sorrow and weariness and care; 
Oh but I miss you — miss you, dear. 
When evening comes. Will you not hear- 
Will you not answer, fond and true. 
The cry of my heart to you? 



53 



Love Songs 



IN PORT 



Hush! Let the day in stormy splendor die; 
Some great lost cause hurled crashing to its doom 
Has bred the spirit that now haunts that sky. 
Here in this far-away, secluded room 
The city's roar comes faintly. Let the tide 
Of daily strife go out. Here by my side 
Rest quietly with me, as stranded seashells lie. 

Hush ! Let my glance sink deep into your eyes 
Which give soft light as flowers pour out their 

sweet ; 
And all the quiet strength that in you lies 
Shall heal my storm-lashed heart and help me 

meet 
With head unbowed, and steady hand, the stress 
Of future storm and pain and weariness. 
So while I have your love, let the storm signals 

rise. 



54 



Love Songs 



WITHOUT 



You are not barred from me, dear heart, dear heart, 
Because I stand outside the bolted door. 
My soul shall reach you where you dwell apart 
And touch you evermore. 

Time was I beat thereon with burning hands, 
And sobbed, and cried aloud with broken cries, 
And called the name I gave you — that dear name. 
Wherein sweet music lies. 

But now the storm is passed, and through my tears 
I see a host of fragrant flowers start 
Where passed your footsteps as you went your way 
Across my heart. 



55 



Love Songs 



SINCE I HAVE WON YOUR LOVE 

Since I have won your love, and given mine, 
The face of all the world has kinder grown ; 

Patience has poured for me her oil and wine, 
And Strength has found and claimed me for his 
own. 

The swarming little ills of daily strife 

Have ceased to fret me with their petty stings, 

Because through all the changing chords of life 
The melody of your devotion sings. 

The days of stormy winds are past and done, 
The air is softer, and the shadows make 

A cooler gloom to rest in from the sun. 
The sky is bluer for your dear love's sake. 



56 



Love Songs 



YOUR VOICE 



Sometimes I think, when you are singing, dear, 
That my sad heart has waited for the sound 

Of that dear voice for many a w-eary year 
And sighing, rests at last, since you are found. 

And now I know that I shall never bear 
A strife so deadly, or a pang so strong, 

Or weariness so heav}^ but that you 

Could re-create me with your healing song. 

Wherever by the winds and tides of fate, 
My little ship of life shall yet be whirled, 

However tempest-bound, and desolate, 
Your voice shall thrill me half across the world. 



57 



Love Songs 



HER SHAWL 



Within its warp and woof the moonHght slipped 
Touching with frost-Hke magic every thread, 
Until it softly gleamed — a web of light 
Sprinkled with star dust from the evening sky. 
Around the oval of her lifted face 
It wound, and falling, on her shoulders lay — 
A ring of diamonds round one perfect pearl — 
A group of stars around the silver moon — 
A wreath of lilies circling some rare vase — 
The sacred samite round the Holy Grail. 



58 



Love Songs 



STORM BOUND 



Do you remember, in the days gone by, 

One perfect night that fell in stormy weather? 

A soft gray veil of rain shut out the sky 
And shut us in together. 

Do you remember how a vagrant strain 
Of music through the open window drifted? 

Do you remember to what dizzy heights 
Our leaping hearts were lifted? 

Ah Sweet ! I hear again the mad, mad song 
Our pulses beat the time to ; and I hear 

The music that your lips made with my name. 
Do you remember, dear? 



59 



Love Songs 



ROSELYN, MY ROSE 

My Roselyn, because your name 
Is flowing music to my ear. 

Because each time it comes to me 
It echoes still more dear, 

I sing it in this blithe refrain 

So that it rings and rings again. 
Ah Roselyn, my Roselyn, 
My Rose ! 

My Roselyn, I breathe you in 

With every breath of vagrant Spring. 
The violets cry, "Roselyn!" 

And when the robins sing 
Their song is all your name — and oh 
My heart in song must overflow. 

My Roselyn, my Roselyn, 
My Rose ! 



60 



Love Songs 



AT PARTING 

Good-bye, dear heart, God watch between us two 
The while we stand not in each other's sight, 
And may he guide you by his holy light, 
And cherish you. 

Good-night. Your couch may silver silence smooth, 
May sweet refreshm.ent kiss your closing eyes. 
And may soft angel-murmured lullabies 
Your senses soothe. 



6i 



A DRAMATIC INTERLUDE 



REASON AND THE ROSE 



PERSONS. 

The Old Mathematician. 
The Young Poet. 

PLACE 

The Library-study shared by the Old Mathema- 
tician and the Young Poet. 

TIME. 

Early evening of a Summer's day. 

A large table holds the middle of the stage. On it are 
books, papers, and writing materials, a set of mechanical 
drawing instruments arranged in a tray, and a shaded 
bronze lamp which is lighted. All is in good order. At 
the left end of the table stand.s a Venetian vase full of 
white roses. Near it sits the young poet reading a book. 
A large window with deep window seat is behind him, 
through which one sees the tops of trees. The full moon 
is rising and its light is just beginning to glimmer on the 
leaves. The door opens and the Old Mathematician comes 
in, a book in his hand, his linger keeping the place. 



THE OLD MATHEMATICL\N. 

What folly is it now ? Psychology ? 

Rubbish! you vex your mind and heart in vain. 

Do you suppose that if man had a soul, 

65 



Reason and the Rose 



He would not be more certain of that fact 
Than all the facts in all the world beside ? 
He dreams he has a soul — or hopes he may — 
Reasons from slim and scanty evidence 
That such a thing as immortality 
Might be and ought to be, and therefore, is. 
Come — leave your moonshine, and sit down with me. 
(He sits at the right end of the table and opens his book 
at the place where his finger kept the page.) 
Here is the Differential Calculus. 
And here a knotty problem worth your while. 

THE YOUNG POET. 

I will not cease from troubling till I know 
Whether my soul shall live immortally 
Or perish with this dust and be no more. 
See, here — these perfect roses, in the vase — 
The vase itself another perfect rose — 

(He takes out one and holds it in his hand.) 
How should (jod spend himself to make such things, 
And all the beauty that is in the earth, 
If he intended to stop short and leave 
The smudge and stain of death on everything? 
But how should you find beauty in the rose. 
Seeing your heart is withered by cube-root? 

THE OLD MATHEMATICIAN. 

You wrong me, boy. I have two eyes and use them. 
I see the myriad beauty in the world ; 

66 



Reason and the Rose 



But this I also see — it perishes. 
Give me the rose — 

(He reaches across the table and takes the rose from 
the poet's hand.) 

for man is nothing more 
Than this, save that its day is sooner fled — 
See now — I crush it — so — and it is gone. 
Oh think how many minds with wisdom bright 
How many bodies, beautiful, has death 
Smitten and left them lying like that rose — 
Look, where I tossed it on the window ledge — 
With all its beauty crumpled, spent and lost, 
You want me to believe it lives again? 
Give evidence. Show when, and where, and how ! 

THE YOUNG POET. 

Oh I have gathered proofs you dream not of — 

And now I feel to-night that I am near 

The answer to my question ; for a holy 

Quiet fills my soul, as through the sky, 

A solemn silence spreads before the dawn. 

I leave you with your books and Calculus 

For I am going out into the night — 

The moon will help me, and the watching stars, 

And cooling wind will set my spirit free 

Till I have found the answer that I seek. 

God and the rose forgive you, as I do. 

(He goes out.) 

67 



Reason and the Rose 



THE OLD MATHEMATICIAN. 

The rose — the rose! and still again the rose! 
What of the rose? Why, surely it is dead. 
Well now, my problem. 

(He straightens tip again", pulls the tray of drawing ia- 
struments toward him, and selects a compass. After spread- 
ing out a sheet of blank paper, he adjusts the compass, 
and then pauses with it in his hand, thinking.) 

What with all his talk 
Of night and dawn and souls, my wits are scattered. 

(He lays down the compass, and leaning his chin on his 
hand gazes into vacancy. A pause.) 

I wonder if I do grow musty here, 
Immersed in learning. Oh I must not lose 
The love for beauty that was keen in me. 

(He rises and going to the window, leans his elbow on 
the window frame and looks out.) 

No, it is still the same — I have not lost it. 

The sky is like a purple pansy bloom, 

The moon its golden heart. The breeze is soft. 

And murmurs in the treetops its old song. 

The face of night is beautiful indeed. 

But the moon wanes, and daylight comes again. 

Oh for the power to stop the wheels of Life, 

And keep the beauty of this night forever ! 

Well — well — I grant the boy this much at least; 

It is a thousand pities that the stain 

And flaw of death is found in everything — 

68 



Reason and the Rose 



All that is lovely, all that we would keep 
Must pass and perish — perish like the rose. 

(He makes a sudden slight motion of surprise.) 

What is that fragrance? How entrancingly 
It falls upon my sense — how piercing sweet! 
It is as if an angel bearing incense 
Passed by unseen. 

(He suddenly stoops and gathers something in his hand 
from the window seat.) 

The rose — the rose I crushed — 
Pouring its sweetness out upon the air 
As if that fragrance were a living soul, 
Arisen from the dead immortally! 

(He stands for a long time with bowed head, the rose 
in his hand. Then he lifts his face and smiles.) 

God and the rose forgive me! I believe! 

(He gazes, absorbed, out of the window. The moon- 
light floods further and further into the room. The voice 
of the young Poet is heard singing without, and the old 
man listens attentively.) 

THE YOUNG POET. 
(Without.) 
I questioned the seers and sages — 
I sought in the books of the wise ; 
But found on those lips, in those pages 
The vaguest surmise. 

69 



Reason and the Rose 



I questioned the trees and the river, 
The flowers, the hills, and the sun; 

And all through the earth passed a shiver, 
But answer, gave none. 

Then I reached in the depths of my being. 

And loosed my soul's shackles, and straight 
I passed through the Outermost Portal — 

The Ultimate Gate. 
And came where the High Lord of Heaven 

Sat throned in his glory and grace. 
His great purple wings spread before him 

O'ershadowed his face. 

With passionate hands, and with pleading 

I laid on his garment my hold. 
And I cried with the whole of my being 

"My question of old !'' 
For a moment the silence engulfed me 

And then his still voice made reply, 
"Go in peace. Make a new song, and sing it- 

The Soul cannot die." 



70 



lUl 15 19^ 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



rui 15 \9i\ 



